


Loving, Responsibly

by IcyKali



Category: Divinity: Original Sin (Video Games), Divinity: Original Sin 2
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Read to learn Fane's choice!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-19 13:35:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22011790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyKali/pseuds/IcyKali
Summary: With the battle for Divinity postponed, the Godwoken have the chance for a short respite. It is time to express their affection. What can Fane do when he is so new to love, when Sebille and Lohse have both weathered so much, and both have feelings for him? One-shot.
Kudos: 6





	Loving, Responsibly

**Author's Note:**

> As I was playing as Fane in my most recent run, I created a missing scene fic/dramatization in my head. This is that story.

Comets of Source streaked past the Lady Vengeance, strangely silent. Divinity had eluded them all, and Fane could not help but be secretly thankful. Everything moved so fast in their—in the world of mortals, and he was glad to postpone his decisions, even if only for a few measly days. He took tentative steps across the deck, pausing when he saw his travelling companions. Beast was conversing with Tarquin, a rare moment of Beast tolerating the greasy human's presence, it seemed. Sebille had her hand on Lohse’s shoulder in what Fane had learned was a comforting gesture. But soon, they turned away from each other, and their gaze fell upon him instead. Immediately he felt a painfully heavy, scalding sensation in his ribs, as if he had accidentally guzzled a healing potion. This dread reminded him of meeting his long-lost wife, he realized. 

There was nothing else to do. Fane ran straight past them both, making a break for the starboard side. “Excuse me, I-I must speak with Almira. Privately!” he snapped. 

His companions stared at his retreating back. “Hm, privately with Almira, he says,” said Sebille. 

Lohse chuckled. “Guess he wants a repeat of that kiss!”

Fane ignored their laughter and seized Almira by the shoulders. “You have to help me, it would only be right of you after I gave you the Swornbreaker!” He shook her and her pink hair flew out in every direction.

Mihaly reached for his bow, but Almira shot him a soft smile and he relaxed, his eyes becoming half-lidded. Was this the power of love, as it were, or was he her thrall? Or could it be both at once? Fane was unsure. “Now, now, darling, I may not have a problem with jumping right into things, but let’s take this one step at a time.” Almira gently plucked Fane’s bony hands off of her. “What’s troubling you?” 

“I…” He looked back at Lohse and Sebille. The memory of his throat had a lump in it. “I can’t explain here, I’m afraid. We have to be alone.” He stiffly reached out, offering Almira his outstretched arm like he was waiting for a handshake. “Please,” he whispered.

“If anybody can help you, it’s Almira,” said Mihaly. “Why don’t you head to the captain’s quarters? Gareth won’t stop pacing out here, and Malady is off somewhere.”  
  
Almira seemed to search Fane’s skull for an emotion. Apparently she found it, because she took his hand. “Yes, let’s.” She pulled him along, and as they approached the hanging lanterns outside the door to the quarters, the light emanating from them struck Fane as quite warm compared to the cyan glow of the pure Source of the Eternals’ lights. He had a vague awareness of his companions joking about him going off to “experiment,” and he supposed they were not wrong. 

* * *

The room was appropriately stuffy, matching the tension in Fane’s bones. He and Almira each took a seat on wooden stools, facing each other. Their legs were bumping together. “Now that we’re nice and alone, why not open up to me?” asked Almira.

The doors were shut tight, and nobody appeared to be listening in. Fane nodded. “I must admit, when I first set out in this world, I was afraid of what creatures like yourself would think of me. And I was right to be afraid. I faced my fair share of both the cowering and torch-wielded variety of mortals,” he said. “But I never expected to face the opposite, and to be even more terrified by it.”

“Whatever do you mean?” 

Fane resisted the urge to hide under his cowl. There was no use in that, not anymore. “Lohse and Sebille both want to engage in courtship rituals with me—wait, that isn’t the right term, is it? I mean to say they’ve both fallen in love with me. Makes me question their tastes, certainly…” he murmured. 

Beneath her mask of leather straps, Almira raised an eyebrow. “You aren’t titillated by the prospect of love blossoming in these dark times? Why?” 

Fane crossed his arms. “As a succubus, you might enjoy their fawning, but how could I? I know that my own love is reserved for _one_. And Sebille and Lohse both are in precarious situations. Their feelings arose from hardship and torment. How can I turn either one away? I’ve… I’ve already tried, and regret it. Rather immensely. I’m not interested in breaking any hearts, Almira.” 

Almira leaned in, her bright hair and dark eyes glowing in the warm light. “Goodness, such a short time among mortals, and you’re already a heartbreaker? You should be proud, darling, not wallowing in sorrow.” 

“How can you be so glib—” Fane grabbed her shoulders once again, with the intention of pushing her back. But he stilled as realization dawned on him. “You helped us draw from the wells of our Source. You’re a teacher of Source! And that means I know exactly how to show you the superiority of my perspective.” He knew his eye sockets were glowing with cyan flame as he locked eyes with Almira. “Drink of my memories, as if I’m merely a ghost.”

Almira smiled. She pulled him into an embrace, and then into her. Glimmering Source spilled out from the two of them, dancing through the air and bringing the room to life. As Fane’s memories of his journey and the friends he had made were drawn up to the surface like bubbles in a stream, he prayed for this little scene of theirs to remain secret. 

* * *

She was certainly as bloodthirsty as Tir-Cendelius, possibly even more so. Her skin and hair were like onyx, and her entire body was hard-edged and sharp, like her needle. The same needle she quite rudely drove through his vertebrae that morning in Fort Joy. She reminded him of an overgrown, vicious version of that adorable furry creature he met on the beach.

And even before the ironically-named Joy, he had made himself vulnerable to her. In that dingey, grimy ship on the way to the prison island, he had not been able to resist having her lick his bony arm. “You were in a cellar with other Sourcerers. Watching. Staring at them. Hoping that none would stare back,” she had said. “You were desperate to speak up—to reach out—to form a connection with these strange creatures. But you were scared. Terrified, even, of what they might think of you.”  
  
There was no denying that, was there? He had hung his skull in shame. It had been a terrible mistake to let her see into his mind. At least, that was what he thought then. 

Her interrogation and slaughter of Stingtail made him even more certain. Even after an initial confrontation, he could not let it go. “I wonder how you are able to sleep at night, like your mortal kin?” he snapped at her, when he and the rest of his “merry band of freaks,” as Lohse called them, were back within the fortress’s walls. “I expected to find simple ignorance among your kind, not this—this calculated cruelty!” 

“Cruelty? Is it cruelty, to pay back the one who so eagerly drew this scar into my flesh?” Sebille said, her tone even more fierce. “And calculated? I’ll take that as a compliment. I spent many nights devising this plan, and if I must give up the chance to travel with one like you to execute it, so be it.” 

But in the end, he had grudgingly stuck with her. He needed to study the full range of mortal interactions, and that unfortunately included bloodlust. And in truth, he understood the desire to strike back against an oppressor. Though his King had in fact unintentionally spared Fane the disappearing act of his fellow Eternals, he supposed he would not pass up a chance for revenge.

He did not need to keep Sebille around to witness cruelty, he soon discovered. Yet in the face of humans like Kniles the Flenser, her ruthlessness became an asset. Maybe he needed someone like her to cut through his naivety, he mused, as he watched her pluck Abstinence and Chastity from Kniles’s corpse. Maybe, as embarrassing as it was to even pen in his notebook, Fane always needed someone to prevent him from reaching out to maladjusted oppressors. 

Being branded by Tir-Cendelius did not dull her confidence in the slightest. “The world is mine! It’s mine because I say it is,” she declared, her eyes more golden than the cave’s piles of treasure. She looked to him expectantly. “Yes, you may bow before the Queen of the World!” 

Surprisingly, fear did not inform his choice to play along and get down on bony knee for her. He felt a warmth in his gem—a little more, and perhaps it would have shone in amusement as it used to so long ago. 

“We, the Queen of the World, smile upon thee with favor! We dub thee… Knight of the Needle!” She waved, cutting through the air over his skull. “Arise, good sir, and wear your title proudly.” 

As he stood, she took both of his hands and laughed heartily. “How kind of you to play along,” she whispered. “We won’t forget.” 

He enjoyed this physical contact far more than the other touching—and manhandling—he had previously faced. He made sure to carefully record all aspects of this exchange in his notes. 

Later, when Sebille sneaked everyone into the old sawmill to mount Saheila’s rescue, he had to admit he was completely behind her revenge plot. When Sebille speared Roost Anlon’s hand, Fane was the one to cock his skull to the side and tell him, “It’s probably for the best that you play along now!”

“Not that you _have_ to,” Sebille added, twisting the needle. 

But mortals would be mortals, so of course as soon as Fane was finally onboard with her attitude, she began sharing her own doubts. “Does such a creature deserve anything less than death?” she asked, with searching, questioning eyes. 

He was ready to launch into an explanation of death’s benefits, and how he envied the ease of spirits, but something in that look had him pause. It did not surprise him to learn this question was really about herself. Soon, she was giving her needle the same look. “Beyond the blood hides nothing but a desire to be happy. I can only hope that is not too terrible a crime,” she said.

As Tovah pressured her to become the prime Scion, Sebille stood tall. “But the great Mother Tree spoke of death and domination. I hated her—fled from her—only to end up in a strange land among unkind strangers.”

Ripples formed in Fane’s memories upon reminiscing on these words. Flashes of Sebille in the bright sunlight on the deck of the Lady Vengeance, describing the impenetrable darkness of her imprisonment. Sebille’s laughter, resounding like the pealing of a great bell. He was in awe of her. His heart went out to her. Even as a child, she had far more foresight than Fane—she knew better than to be suckered in by the call of some tyrant. And while he knew how it felt to be stranded, alone in a new world full of unkind strangers, his entombment and capture paled in comparison to her enslavement. Did it not make sense, that she would harden into an obsidian lancet? Was it not incredible, that she could still laugh and smile after being conscious in the equivalent of her own tomb for years on end? This pride and admiration for her, this joy in spending time with her—was this love? 

It was too much responsibility. That was how he would rationalize his terrible behavior. When she held his hands and sang the song that controls her scar, he was honored, yes, but when she closed her eyes and moved in close for an embrace, he panicked. He did not even know if it was a mistake, but the heartbroken look in her eyes certainly made it feel like one. He tried his best to rectify it, but only made things worse. She brushed off his comments about being touched that she trusted him so much. “On a more serious note. Why didn’t you hug me?” she asked. 

“You… are my dear friend. Need you be more?” he said. 

“I don’t _need_ to be.” Her countenance darkened further. “Pity you don’t _want_ me to be.” 

Fane had no time to sit with his guilt. Even before the fight for divinity loomed, Saheila came running across the decorated scaffolding of the Mother Tree to inform Sebille that she had been in her camp all along. And before that final kill, Sebille had to face her “Master” and permanently silence him. Fane remembered singing her scar song—after plenty of coaching from Lohse and Beast, who were both more musical than he was—and he remembered the grey paving stones and pillars, the monotone only broken by the embers that spiraled through the air like snow, and by the blood pooling under their feet from the corpses of the Shadow Prince and his train. After the battle, Sebille added further to the spilled blood by raking her needle across the name on her skin, but Fane whispered words of healing and gently pressed his hand against the wound. His finger bones were stained, but it was more than worth it to hear her laughter once more, and to see her eyes dance with mirth. 

“So… after all that’s happened, do you feel you can truly let go of the darkness?” Fane asked her, his mind full of living crypts. 

“I most certainly can.” She paused. “If you show me a little love.”

Fane froze for just a moment. He wanted to preserve the light in her eyes, so he thought back to the kiss-that-was-more-than-a-kiss he shared with Almira, and tempered it into what he felt would not be construed as a mating ritual. He pressed his teeth against her cheek and she laughed, full of life. His fear abated.

But it was not to last. At the Lunar Gate, when tensions ran high, she spoke: “From the moment you came back to me on that ship, I knew you were special. You’ve proven it time and again.”  
  
Internally, Fane begged for a friendly jibe. Why couldn’t she have said “special, as in ignorant?” he wondered. Why, when she kissed him on the cheekbone, did it not feel like a friend returning a gift, but a deathly Soul-Bond? He wanted this fealty to remain playful, and to stay the Knight of her Needle. And if the admiration he felt for her was love, why was the joy cut with fear, fear that reminded him so much of—the veil of memory was pulled back, away from the Nameless Isle and Reaper’s Coast, falling back to Fort Joy on that fateful day. She certainly did not look like Rhalic, but her smirk, as well as her hair—which resembled flame streaked with salt—demonstrated that she was just as much of a spitfire in personality, if not more so. When she explained that he was a “clump of leaves” compared to her “roadside inn,” he was more excited than insulted. He hoped her otherworldly visitors were more articulate than the ignorant mortals scurrying about this strange world. There was no way he could pass up the chance to study such a fascinating phenomenon, and he was happy to forget that awkward interaction between them on the ship and let her tag along.

His eye sockets still fixed on his notebook, he asked: “Your eyes are unnaturally dark for a human. Have they always been that way?”  
  
“How very sweet of you to notice! I know, it’s weird. One of the many side effects of the visitor upstairs,” she said. She drummed her fingers on her forehead, a grim look on her face. “They used to be blue. Oh well.” 

“Blue? How boring.” He looked up. “They have far more character this way. You humans all look the same to me. You’re lucky to have some… distinguishing characteristic from the rest of the lot.”

Lohse had a good laugh about that. She batted her eyelashes, before playfully punching him in the shoulder. Baffling. And yet, bizarrely appealing. He made a note of it. He found that, though he was disheartened to discover that the demon was just as violent as everyone else when he bade her throttle Saheila, Fane was content to study Lohse herself.

After that confusing conversation in which Amadia referred to herself as his sister, mother, and his soul all at once, and demanded he slaughter his travelling companions, he had no qualms with letting Lohse know she said she was quite the liability. Even if only to record her reaction. 

“One of the _gods_ said that?” She buffed her fingernails on her tunic. “Nice.”

“I hope you know that I’m not going to abandon you over some apparition.” Fane huffed. “I’ve had quite enough of being told what to do already.”

Immediately, she grinned widely and began to dance around him. “You like me, you like me, you really, really like me!” she chanted maniacally. He was too stunned to ask her about this ritual. She then stopped and leaned over, her voice descending to a whisper. “Psst! I like you, too.”

Flames of Source in his eye sockets surged, then wavered at the sound of Beast and Sebille chuckling behind them.

The tide of memory surged to Reaper’s Coast. Thought he hated the eponymous coast, he had to admit the tavern was quaint. Despite its seedy nature and the Magister-based stew, it was there more than ever he wished he could be naught but a ghost. Why couldn’t he sit back and enjoy the pleasant warmth in his bones, people-watching as he went on his way? Why did everyone have to look at him, with expectations and suspicions, as if they could peer straight through his disguise?

But then the bard, Barstan Tungs, called her over. “Be still, my wretched, wretched heart! The mistress of song is here!” Fane half-expected him to faint dead away. 

Lohse winked. “Always a pleasure to meet a fan!”

Barstan explained that reciting verse for Lohse was a treasured dream of his. How curious, that giving a gift to another could be such a boon to oneself! 

“Go on, then—but it had better be good!” Lohse gave him one of her sunny smiles.

“When the mornings are darkest, and my regrets toll the punishing bell/when the world ate my soul and there’s blood in my wishful mind’s well/I look to the day I heard Lohse the many-tongued sing…” As Fane recalled the final verse of Barstan’s piece, his mind’s eye drifted to a blood-soaked, pustule-dotted shoreline, a shackled tree, and a poisoned well overflowing with Void. Aetera’s masked face came into focus, only to be swallowed by the curling wings of his King. “…and I learned that a heart is a glorious thing.” 

And then all he could see was Lohse, her skin aglow and honey-colored in the tavern’s light. No longer did he fear the looks of the other mortals. He reflected on the joy she had bestowed on him, how much he wanted her to be as happy as she made her friends—was this love? 

It was too much responsibility. That was how he would rationalize his later fear and dread. During the failed exorcism, when Lohse thrashed and twisted on the damp ground as Jahan looked on uselessly in the dark, Fane felt like his bones would crumple in on themselves in relief when he managed to draw her back to herself. And yet what she would say afterward chilled him. 

She stared off into the Cloisterwood, as if still lost. She sobbed. “…And then I heard your voice. I heard you calling, and… and I followed it. It was all I had in the darkness. It was the only thing I could find. Just you. Nothing else. What the hell do I do with _that_?”

“I… wouldn’t think too much of it,” he said, slowly. “You needed help, and I was there to provide it. That’s what friends do, as I’ve learned during this journey.” 

Right away, he knew this was the wrong answer. “Right. Right… I get it,” she said. “I’m lucky to have you around, you know. Even if I can’t… well, never mind.” Resignation hung over her like a shroud. “I’m damn lucky I met you, chief.” 

Things only worsened from there. He did not want to dwell on what came next, but he felt Almira’s touch, guiding him, urging him forward. In a flash, he recalled the whirlpool of Source and the piercing scream of a dying demon, and the sight of Jahan handing Lohse a grimoire whose cover let off an eerie radiance. 

Soon after, Lohse handed Fane the book. “I was thinking, chief… I’m used to spirits coming and going. It would be a little redundant to waste this on me, wouldn’t it?” she said. “So I figured, why not give it to you? We can be inner demon buddies!”

“Er… are we not attempting to rid you of yours?” he asked.

“Well you can forget about it later—the skill part, not the buddies part, I mean. Or maybe we could be more than buds one day, who knows? I’ll make you mine yet!”

That was the last thing he had wanted to hear. He tried to back away, back to the safety of his other companions, but Lohse’s frown stopped him in his tracks. Nodding hastily, he accepted the gift. But it was too little, too late, and they both knew it.

On the Nameless Isle, when Lohse was a grey, wan, muttering replacement for her former self, Fane could not put these interactions out of his mind. Appropriately enough, they clung to him like his own inner demon, and this realization brought him no joy. Still, he understood enough by this point to push past his terror and take Lohse aside to speak to her privately. “If you are struggling with the demon, you have to tell us. We agreed, before setting out together for the second time, that you could rely on me to murder you ‘in a pinch,’ in your words.” 

He expected a curt deflection, but his prediction was wrong. She groaned. “Maybe… maybe if you would choose me already, I could—!” She wiped sweat from her brow, her jaw clenched tight. “Why can’t you? It’s not because of the demon, I know that now. Do you feel maybe, even the least bit guilty?”  
  
Fane had enough. “Adramahlihk.”

Lohse’s body recoiled, as if struck. “Do not say that name!” the demon hissed. He flipped Lohse’s hair back and put on a calm, collected smile. “Now, what is the occasion, dear Fane? The pleasure is all mine.”  
  
“I’m sure it is, because I certainly don’t feel any pleasure!”

“Why are you reacting with such anger?” Adramahlihk asked, still smiling away. “After I generously helped you and your companions defeat Sallow, no less.” 

“Your ‘help’ was unasked for, _Adramahlihk_.” Fane crossed his arms. “Now, kindly stop getting involved in any… romantic entanglements.”  
  
Adramahlihk blinked. “Whatever do you mean? Are you saying you thought—oh no, that was all Lohse. Are you not overjoyed to be beloved by my favorite person in the world? Tut-tut, Fane, you disappoint me!” His smile widened. “Wait until you see what she’s capable of under pressure.”

“Excuse me, what—” 

But Lohse’s body went slack, for Adramahlihk had already fled. And to Fane’s horror, very little of his fear was reserved for _him_. 

* * *

The tide receded at its own pace. For a time, all Fane could see was cyan Source inside his eye sockets. When he came to, the lanterns seemed so far away, obscured by—pink, brushed wool? No, Almira’s hair. Her arms were around him, her head tucked against his skull. Utterly drained, he let her support his bones.

Eventually, she pulled away. Her eyes were bleary with tears, but exhaustion was not tarnishing her features—a sign of her power. “Darling… I’m so sorry. I had no idea. I’m sorry you had to learn all the hardest lessons love can teach, and so soon after coming into this world!”

If only he were sitting on a proper chair and not a stool. He longed to slump back and collapse. “Unfortunately, ‘sorry’ is of no help to me now, Almira.” He bent his legs further, pulling them up to his ribcage. “What do I do with this responsibility?”

She laughed bitterly. “Funny, isn’t it? That you’re Godwoken, and this is the burden weighing you down?”

“I don’t know what is worse right now!” he said. “Hm, actually, no. This is worse. At least the battle for Divinity has been postponed. This… this I must decide now.”

“Oh, honey, you’ll all get through this. Being Godwoken is far more painful.” She smoothed out his wrinkled robe.

He looked up. “Well, that isn’t ominous at all.” 

Her hand stilled over where his heart used to be. “What I mean to say is that you’re all adults. Your decision may bring temporary hurt, but what is the alternative? Prolonging that suffering? Lying? Oh no, either of those choices would be awful, don’t you think?” She shook her head. “Don’t discard the wonders love can bring to avoid transient pain. I can only imagine how miserable I would be today had Mihaly and I not fought to run away together,” she said, wistfully. 

Fane looked to the doors and their windows. The faintest twinkling of Source streamed by outside, while nothing but dust filled the air in the captain’s quarters. It was clear—he could not cleave to safety for long. “I must admit, asking this question aloud makes me long for the tomb, but—how, then, should I speak my heart? Ah, surely, I can at least aim to cause a minimal amount of damage?”

“Do as you said, Fane,” she said, using his chosen name for the first time. “Speak your heart.” 

* * *

He held the door open for Almira, then closed it so gently it was silent. At first, he shuddered at the sight of his companions all standing together, talking—could they not have spread out around the ship to allow him some privacy, after all his agonizing? But that is not how he thought when they had moved as one in order to protect him from Aetera. No, it was only right for them to be together, after everything they had faced. And he would face them now with the bravery and respect they deserved.  
  
Almira sent one last smile his way before leaving to rejoin her own beloved. 

Fane pulled his hood down and strode across the deck, anticipation beating strong within him. His friends’ conversation ceased and all went still as he approached. He was not prepared to break the hush atmosphere—not yet—but he also did not want to be rude, so he nodded to Sebille and Lohse before turning to face Beast. “I-I’ve been thinking about you, Beast. A lot,” Fane stammered. “And your… beard?” He knew Almira must be laughing at him, but he refused to look over to her and confirm it. Being resolute was the key. Hopefully.

“Well, I think about you a lot too, lad! I mean, I kinda have to and all, given the circumstances,” Beast said, tentatively. “Not sure what my beard has to do…”

Had he chosen the wrong string of words yet again? He would not stand for it. This was their one respite, and he would not waste it. “I’d like to make love to you,” he announced.

“…Oh. Oh?” Beast’s eye widened. “Oh! I, uh. Well, I mean, just… look at you. I'd be a fool to turn ya down….” He fiddled with his beard, seeming glued to the spot. 

Fortunately, Fane knew this was not the same sort of fear and hesitation he had asked Almira to help him through. “After you,” he said fondly, tilting his skull to the side. He held out a bony hand. 

Beast caught his breath. “Right. Right.” He gingerly accepted Fane’s hand, and with this touch, Source sparked between the two of them. 

Fane chose not to look back at Lohse or Sebille. As the Hall of Echoes’ magic coursed through him and Beast, and they moved below deck to be alone together, Fane watched lights well inside his eye sockets once more, spreading through his gem and skull. He was drawn into memories once again, and this time, he welcomed the mist of images and sensations and embraced them as they came.

* * *

He certainly resembled Duna, but was simultaneously more decorated and worse for wear. His beard, the color of tarnished silver, was woven with shining medallions. He had on an eyepatch, and the flesh surrounding his uncovered eye was scarred. Fane did not ask him about the scar, as he would not ask Sebille about hers—he certainly would not want everyone he met asking him why he was a walking skeleton. 

When he stumbled upon him on that fateful morning in Fort Joy, the Beast o’ the Sea was struggling to pull up a nail in a fashion quite similar to one Fane had performed on a corpse’s face earlier. In retrospect it was embarrassing to admit, but a bit of empathy for the mortal shot through Fane due to this similarity. In fact, in his ensuing conversation with Beast, he would discover more similarities—they had both been punished for speaking truth to tyrants, they had both left their old names in the past, and they had both lost their headgear before the shipwreck. Of course, Fane did not think Beast’s hat was as functional as the Mask of the Shapeshifter, but still. Quite eerie. 

Fane appreciated that this mortal was immediately honest and to-the-point about his past and goals. When he spoke to Fane, it was only ever to discuss his mission—which sounded about as important as any mortal’s business could be—and to answer questions. But like all mortals, aspects of his attitude were confounding. When Fane asked him how he had ended up in Fort Joy, Beast excitedly recounted the tale of how he boarded a Magister flagship and summoned a cyclone of Source in order to sacrifice himself and let his crew escape. “What bravery! What sacrifice…” he trailed off. He sighed, a distant look in his eyes. “What bollocks. I ain't no hero. Besides, you know how the rest goes. Hell, you're helpin' to write it. Magisters haul me off, and soon enough I'm headin' to Fort Joy, collared like the beast I am.” 

“Really? Assuming you haven't lied to me, you are a hero. Unless this world is backwards enough that 'hero' means something different, I suppose,” Fane said. 

“Aww—you're makin' me blush! Truth is, a captain's only as good as his crew. But we all share a common goal: freedom. The dwarven people, we've been through a lot. We deserve it.” And there he went, turning the subject back to his cause. Obviously, the dwarven people had not experienced a fraction of what the Eternals had faced, but it was a nice sentiment. 

Later, in bustling Driftwood, Fane decided to voice his appreciation for Beast’s focus. “You know, when I look at you, Beast, I think to myself: a mortal who doesn't brandish a pitchfork, who has an independent thought thought or two in his head, who doesn't bark away incessantly? Incredible!” he exclaimed, taking notes as he and his companions walked through the village’s heart.

“You know, I'm goin' to say 'thank you' so as not be rude, but I kinda doubt I should….” Beast murmured, looking to Lohse, who was theatrically pouting, and to Sebille, who was rolling her eyes. Fane kept writing in his notebook.

After Voidwoken seized and enwebbed the four of them, dragging them to the depths of Wrecker’s Cave, and Fane looked out into the wet, pulsating caverns, he felt the absence of his friends keenly. He felt more alone in that moment than he had when he rose from his tomb. But he was happy to see that this loneliness did not linger. Beast was the first of his companions he was reunited with, and together they wandered to a fenced-off area stashed with weaponry. As they investigated the dwarven missives in this dank place, Fane found that the ease with which the two of them worked together was pleasant. Even after they found the others, he found himself drifting a little bit closer to Beast from that point on, in any given situation. He also often found himself casting Soul Mate on him, but that was neither here nor there.

Seeing Beast hit that scientist’s bomb underlined this budding realization. “I thought you were one beast who wasn’t ignorant, but now I see that I was wrong!” Fane snapped. “Smashing a bomb with your fists? Really? If I hadn’t been unfortunate enough to witness the catalogue of stupidity mortals have to offer, I would say that was the most rash thing I’ve ever heard!” His bones simmered with anger. It was irrational and he knew it—Beast was Godwoken. Alexandar had certainly survived more than a bomb with nary a scratch, after all. But Fane found he could not suppress the urge to shout. 

“First of all: I'm rash. If this comes as some kind of surprise, you not been payin' attention. Second of all: that tinkerer or weaponsmith or whatever-she-was wasn't knittin' a sweater. That thing was made to kill dwarves, and I was made to smash it,” Beast said. Very little of his anger was directed at Fane. “Any questions? No? Good.”

Fane let it be. He would come to understand his new partiality toward Beast better soon after, in Stonegarden. When they stood side-by-side atop the tower, birds of prey circling overhead, and sank into the memories of the arguing siblings together, Fane sided with the revolutionary sister. How could he not have, when she was resisting tyranny?

Beast concurred. “You see clearly, then. He stood up for _her_ —she stood up for _everybody_. It’s the true measure of a heart—how you treat not those closest to you, but those you’ve never even met. His was big. But hers was bigger.” Beast smiled sadly, his eyes taking on that distant look again, as if he were staring deep into a bank of fog.

This reminded Fane of an Eternal prayer, the same one the lich, Xhaxh, had murmured: “Liberty cannot be offered one without being offered the many.” And as Fane stood there watching Beast, his beard’s decorations jingling in the wind, he wondered—but as Beast stood up for everyone, tolerant and humble as he was, who was there to stand up for him? Whenever he unduly apologized for tangents he never even went on, or faced the scrutiny of the very people he fought to protect, who was there to treat _his_ big heart right? Fane hoped he could be the one to do so. The desire to stand by him, and stand up for him, the longing he felt to continue journeying with him, the ease he felt when they were together—was this love?

He knew it was not his responsibility to do such things, of course, but how he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. He had heard what the Voidwoken whispered to Beast. How nobody knew his worth, and how he needed to rest after doing so much for his people. Of course, they just wanted to manipulate him, but that, Fane realized, was a sin of his people he could set right. If he had any choice in the matter, he would help Beast rest, and would never let him forget his worth. After all, Fane had the meticulous notes to prove it.

So when Beast would subtly reach out to him on the Nameless Isle in order to comfort him in the midst of so much tension, he reciprocated his advances, and was rewarded with a shy grin. And then, when they recovered Beast’s bicorne in the Temple of Duna, Delorus piped up: “Fran? That sounds a lot like Fane!” 

Beast blushed under his whiskers and stammered something incomprehensible, before looking to Fane. Beast’s eye was wide as he looked up. “Fane? Lad? Your gem’s glowin’!” he exclaimed. 

“O-Oh, is it, now?” He brushed it with his bony fingers, as if he could somehow feel the light. 

“It’s really cu-cool.” Beast looked away. Their other friends laughed happily. 

At the Lunar Gate, when Fane was reeling from all the burdens he had somehow found himself with, when Lohse was losing herself and Sebille had asked him for love, Beast was also in despair. As he recounted his imprisonment on the Isle of Mists, the trauma was engraved so heavily into his voice and features, it was as if he had never managed to escape. Yet even so, his only thoughts were of his people. “I’m not lookin’ to ascend because I want the power. I’m not doin’ any of this for me. I’m doin’ it so the rebels never need face the Isle. So the mist’ll never be in ‘em. So they can be truly free. Fearless. Themselves,” he said.

It was time to repay truth with truth, honesty with honesty. Fane did not even want Divinity anymore. He did not trust himself with it. And he hoped none of them would end up with that burden when they already had so many others. He reached out and took Beast’s hand. “Beast, it has been a privilege to explore this world with you, to see the world through your eyes, even metaphorically… your loyalty to your people is inspiring—and it matches my loyalty to you.” He stroked his hand. “I hope we can continue to support each other. I won't let you down.” 

“I… I…” Whatever words he meant to say next went unspoken. Wide-eyed and tongue-tied, he could only nod and blush. Fane was honored to have his trust, to have him by his side. Their hands lingered in each other’s, until they simultaneously remembered two other people were present and hastily let go.

That was not the end of it. In the Academy, their little group split up to find enough power sources in order to reactivate the Eternal machinery. Despite everything, Sebille offered to explore with Lohse, leaving Fane alone with Beast. Fane did not know how he could ever thank Sebille.

“Hang on a minute,” Beast said. “Before we head to the Wellspring, there’s somethin’ I need to tell you.”

Though he did not specify alone, Fane wanted to have a moment alone with him dearly, so he took him aside, to a quiet corner, and sat beside him on one of the many ledges. He wished he could show him how warm and inviting the Academy used to be, back when he tended to its collection of knowledge. 

“Back at the Gate, I got all choked-up…” Beast began. “It was jus’ a lot all of a sudden, you know.”

“Was it too much responsibility? I understand completely, if it was.” 

“Not at all. I wanted to say that… I-I want to protect you.” His face reddened once again. In the light, it was a fascinating violet shade. “Not ‘cause I feel it’s a responsibility, mind. I guess with the fight for Divinity going on and everything, we could all use a little protection.” He cast his gaze to the library door. “And I’m not sayin’ this ‘cause I think you can’t fend for yourself, either. Even if you do try to shake a bartender’s hand every once in a while!”  
  
“Yes, I am an Eternal, after all—and that was _one_ time!” He laughed. 

It seemed that it took great effort, but Beast managed to turn and face him. “Heh, I know. And after everything you’ve been through, I know you could handle it yourself. I haven’t said anything, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot—I mean, you lost your people. Your world. And everybody you knew blames you for it? It must be… torture. Worse than I ever faced at the Isle. But you’re still so curious all the time, and eager to learn about this place, even when it’s not always friendly—okay, _usually_ not friendly to you?” His eye widened, looking starry due to the scintillating Source of the surrounding architecture. “You’re strong, Fane. I-I envy you.”

“Strange. My arrogance doomed my people, while you’re trying to save yours, and yet here you are, looking up to me?"

“It’s not that simple, and I think you know it. You ‘n’ me, we know how tyrants are. And excuse me for pointin’ out that the Seven looked like they were itchin’ for an excuse to wage war,” he said. “And even if it had been all you—which it wasn’t—doesn’t that mean your choices led to everythin’ good in this world, too?” 

What could he even say? 

“But I’m gettin’ off-track, as usual. I just wanted you to know I return your loyalty, and I’ll protect you no matter what comes our way.”  
  
If he had a body, he knew he would have teared up. “I-I believe that you will, of course. I trust you.” He paused. “Curious, I was sure I would burst into flames if I ever uttered those words. Oh well.”

Beast chuckled. “But instead it’s me burstin’ into flames, you mean?” He pointed to his blushing face. 

“Hm, it does appear to be a fascinating variant of spontaneous combustion.” He inched one of his hands closer to Beast, and closer still, until just the tips of their fingers were touching. When Beast did not pull away, Fane intertwined their fingers. As he remembered the weight of their joined hands, he was carefully brought back to their present hand holding. There, they stood in a room newly-crafted by the Lady Vengeance, where they could be gloriously alone together at last. 


End file.
